Oblivion
by Leila Secret-Smith
Summary: The end is nigh, but Sauron will not die alone.


And far away, as Frodo put on the Ring and claimed it for his own, even in Sammath Naur the very heart of his realm, the Power in Barad-dûr was shaken, and the Tower trembled from its foundations to its proud and bitter crown. The Dark Lord was suddenly aware of him, and his Eye piercing all shadows looked across the plain to the door he had made; and the magnitude of his own folly was revealed to him in a blinding flash, and all the devices of the enemies were at last laid bare.

\- The Return of the King, chapter 3, page 924

* * *

Sauron's head snapped up and around as he felt the new Claim. He stood from where he had been lounging indolently on his throne, waiting for the end and laughed, high and clearer than his voice had been in millennia. The years seemed to slough off him, though in truth nothing had changed but his eyes, which he finally allowed to return to their natural gold.

The general who had been giving his report stopped abruptly, surprise and terror crossing his worn face. He turned his head in the same direction as Sauron.

"My Lord?" The Dark Lord's chatelaine, a competent human woman and one of the few who knew what was coming, poked her head in from the side door and spoke. "What is it?"

Sauron laughed again and released all in his service from the thrall of his Will. "Go!" he said, waving to the general and his chatelaine. "Go! Save yourself, if you will. The end is nigh." He watched intently with his piercing Eye as the new Claimant struggled in Sammath Naur. He directed the Nazgûl there even as he laughed and laughed and laughed until black tears rolled down his pale, scarred face.

"Go! Go! You have failed me in such a spectacular manner, and yet I would have it no other way. Go! Fly! Save this crumbling Kingdom, defy the Theme! Oh, you fools! And I the biggest fool of all."

The general turned and ran, yelling for his second in command as he did so. "Fly! Fly! The hour is upon us!" Pandemonium erupted in the outer hall.

To Sauron's surprise, his chatelaine walked fearlessly up to the dais and squarely met his eyes. "I will not leave you, my Lord," she said, soft but unyielding. "The Enemy would see me dead anyway. My life ends here, with yours."

His wild laughter ceased. "Oh, Sadra," he said, taking her hand. "Your faith was always misplaced, but I thank you for it nonetheless." He pulled the cushions from his black throne and set them on the dais stairs. "Come, sit with me, and we will watch the end together."

What few barriers and formalities had been between them vanished as they sat, hand-in-hand, facing Sammath Naur. "I do not think you need this any longer," said Sadra, reaching up and removing the Black Crown from where it rested upon his fiery hair.

"No, I think you are right," said he. A glimmer of old, nearly-forgotten mischief rose in his eyes and he jerked his chin toward the balcony. "Go on, throw it. It was ugly anyway. I seem to have lost my sense of aesthetics in my old age." Sadra cracked a smile, amused and saddened in the same moment, and hurled it like a discus with her free hand. They watched the crown spin out into the weak light, glimmering dully, and disappear.

The struggle in Sammath Naur reached its fevered peak. The Ring cried out in mingled fury and terror and Its cry echoed painfully in Its creator's torn fёa, making him flinch.

"It is nearly finished," Sadra whispered, reaching over and taking his other hand. "Soon, we will both be free."

"You will be free," Sauron corrected, flinching again. "I will find oblivion if I am fortunate, and eternal torment if I am not. The latter I deserve far more than the former, but I may hope nonetheless."

He gasped suddenly and trembled all over as the Ring was finally hurled into the Fires from whence it came. Sadra's grip on his shaking hands tightened, even as the Tower began to crumble. The Ring had been a part of his innermost self, and his weak, brutalized fёa began to unravel beneath the aftershocks of Its demise.

Pieces of masonry rained down from the crumbling ceiling; he pulled Sadra into the dubious protection of his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispered, ducking his head and shielding her frail mortal body, despite the inevitability of both their demises.

"It's alright, my Lord, it's alright," she said, winding her arms around him, and he nearly laughed aloud at her attempts to soothe him.

Sauron's fána began to unravel as well, darkness falling like a heavy curtain before his eyes. How ironic and undeserved, thought he, that the last words I hear will be the comforting of a mortal chatelaine I have doomed to die with me. Despite the unfairness of it all, he gripped her desperately.

It's alright, my Lord.

It's alright.

Everything will be alright.


End file.
